


It's About Time

by lunacosas



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Breeding, Breeding Kink, Knotting, M/M, Mpreg, Possessive Behavior, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:49:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29932302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunacosas/pseuds/lunacosas
Summary: Jaskier is the perfect omega. If Geralt thought he seriously wanted it, he'd be happy to take him as his mate.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 16
Kudos: 431





	It's About Time

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this back in February for a little exchange but was too shy to post it then. Currently tidying up my docs (can you tell I'm really bored?) and though I might as well. Please mind the tags, and I hope you enjoy if this is your thing ^^

Jaskier is, to Geralt, the perfect omega. He is nothing like the weak, whimpering things he sees being pampered at banquets or whining for a mate. Jaskier is headstrong and determined, undeniably self-interested in the way he selects who to bed. He has never been one to submit, to roll over and present himself prettily, no matter how much trouble it lands him in; alphas don’t like omegas who talk back, who are unafraid to use them the way they use omegas. Jaskier is strong where other omegas are weak, daring where they are timid, loud where they are soft-spoken.

But he is an omega. He is weak too, when he allows himself to be, and that is why Geralt loves him. He would, if Jaskier allowed it, take him as his mate. He thinks Jaskier is too fond of fucking to want that, though, too content with the way his life is to change anything about it. Climbing onto Geralt’s cock was a pretty good change, though. Agreeing to come to Kaer Morhen when Geralt invited him was even better. The other Witchers have their bedmates for the winter, but even so Geralt expects Jaskier to join them. The length of time it takes Jaskier to find his way beneath another alpha takes Geralt by surprise because, after the second week, Jaskier still hasn’t done it. He gives no indication of wanting to either. He seems content with just Geralt, and Geralt is more than happy to satisfy.

They’re sharing a bed, one that smells of them and of sex. It took four rounds to satisfy Jaskier enough for him to fall asleep last night, and upon waking he is still needy. He rubs against Geralt, murmuring softly, and Geralt hums in consideration as he is woken.

“The others would welcome you,” he points out, making explicitly clear what he thought was obvious from the start.

“I know,” Jaskier breathes, shifting against Geralt, “but I want my alpha.”

His words are potent, sending heat coursing through Geralt’s body. He lets out a possessive snarl, a hand gripping at Jaskier’s thigh. “Careful,” he warns.

Jaskier, in spite of the flush of his skin and the need that is already making him breathless, bares his throat. “Why? Aren’t you mine?”

He is. Jaskier knows he is. It’s proven by the fact Geralt denies himself the unmarked, delicate skin being so seductively offered to him. Jaskier is teasing, playing games as always. One day Geralt fears he will bite, that he’ll take the bait and claim Jaskier, making a mate of an omega who clearly has no intention of ever being bonded.

“You are in my bed,” is the best Geralt can answer, and Jaskier gives a distracted huff of laughter.

“And I want your knot. Come on,” Jaskier urges, his gaze becoming lidded as his hand slips lower. He is breathless as he wraps his fingers around Geralt’s already hard cock, kissing him roughly as he makes his whispered demand. “Breed me.”

The thought of it, the impossible result of load after load being fucked into Jaskier, kept there by his knot, makes Geralt move with all the speed bestowed on him. He flips Jaskier, knowing he favours this position when he talks of breeding. Geralt favours it too, letting it fuel the fantasy now filling his mind. He never cared for female omegas, and would never wish that Jaskier was one, but he wishes he could see his belly swell with child, that he could see him grow fat and happy, his tits sensitive and leaking. His fingers slide between Jaskier’s thighs, pushing easily into his slick entrance and finding him loose and pliant enough not to wait. All the same, Geralt teases the sensitive ring of muscles, feeling the place their bodies join with increasing hunger. Jaskier is moaning openly already, rocking back into the touch and promising to sing beautifully with Geralt’s cock inside him.

He curses so sweetly as Geralt pushes into him, sounding almost on the verge of tears as Geralt slides home. Jaskier is demanding, pushing back, grabbing and grasping, begging Geralt to go harder, faster, to give him  _ more _ . The sound of skin against skin, the slick smeared between them, is perfectly obscene, and Geralt pushes down between Jaskier’s shoulder blades, pinning him to the bed with his ass speared in the air as Geralt changes position. Crouching, feet planted firmly either side of Jaskier, his powerful thrusts become almost animalistic, the need to fuck, to mate and to breed, driving him on just as much as the way his pretty omega sings for him. His restraint unravels, his eyes focused in their hunger on Jaskier’s unblemished neck.

The benefit of the position is that it distances him from temptation. He closes his eyes as he feels Jaskier come, a groan torn from him at the pleasure of it, his knot beginning to swell. Another two thrusts and the base of his cock is too swollen to withdraw again, wave after wave of release coursing through him. He rides it out, roughly rocking into Jaskier, fucking him with his knot as he fills him with come. He hears the happy, choked little sounds Jaskier makes when he is blissed out, as telltale as the way his body goes lax and pliant.

When Geralt leans forward, his fingers card through Jaskier’s damp hair, his lips grazing against the shell of his ear. “You can feel it, can’t you?” he breathes.

His hand moves, coming to rest over Jaskier’s belly. His skin is soft and warm, Geralt’s imagination allowing him to indulge in the fantasy of feeling the first swell of pregnancy there. If it is anything, it is just Geralt’s cock, and the generous load of come his knot is now keeping inside the omega.

Jaskier whimpers prettily, turning to try and kiss Geralt, and failing. “Yes.”

“Is this what you wanted?” Geralt murmurs, teasing Jaskier by denying him the kiss.

Jaskier nods, weakly reaching for Geralt and then finding his strength. “Fucking kiss me.”

There is no reason to deny him, or to object when, not long after Geralt’s knot has gone down and they’ve pulled apart, Jaskier begs for his knot again.

Another week passes, and then another. Geralt spends more time tied to Jaskier than he does apart from the omega, and has somehow managed to keep from mating him. His fingers brush gently over the spot as he marvels at it, and Jaskier tilts his head to allow better access.

They don’t speak about it.

They fuck some more, until the winter has fewer weeks left than the time they’ve already spent at Kaer Morhen. The whispered talk of breeding leaves Geralt heavy and full with desire, unable to keep his hands from Jaskier or his cock from filling him. The fantasy is dizzying. It is foolish, he knows, but it is pleasing to indulge in, to imagine.

Until it is no longer his imagination. Geralt hesitates, staring at Jaskier, his attention fixed on his belly. The softness is subtle, the swell barely there, but he realises that the omega’s tunic sits differently. It pulls just a little in a way Geralt hasn’t seen before. He had been so intent on the fantasy he hadn’t realised the change was real, that Jaskier’s scent has shifted too.

Male omegas can’t fall pregnant. It’s just a fact.

It’s not possible.

“Um, Geralt?”

Geralt crosses over to Jaskier, attention still on his belly. His hand presses carefully against it, his cock swelling and mind racing. “Are you…?”

“Am I what?”

He hesitates, feeling that, however incredible it is, it’s the truth. “Pregnant.”

Jaskier scoffs. “Don’t be silly, of course I’m not—”

He goes completely still, his eyes widening and his breath catching in his lungs as he realises it’s true.

“How am I…?” he wonders, his cheeks flushing. “I’m really…”

He touches his own belly, his trembling hand resting over Geralt’s.

“Um…”

He has lost his eloquence. Perhaps because his blood has pooled elsewhere. Geralt feels the same tug of arousal too. He wants to ask how. He wants to ask why. He wants to ask so many things, and yet all he can do is crowd Jaskier, kissing him hungrily, making his need known. They don’t make it to their room. Geralt fucks Jaskier right there in the dining hall on the table, Jaskier on his back and Geralt’s hands at his belly. It’s as rough and hurried as their first time, Geralt seized by the need to be close, to knot Jaskier and hold him tight. He fucks and kisses him, breathless in his wonder and longing, and when they have both come and cling sweatily together he rests their brows together.

“I didn’t know you could…” he breathes.

Jaskier hugs him close, still shaking from his release, and perhaps from the shock of the realisation. “Neither did I.”

“Do you think it’s mine?” Geralt wonders.

“Yeah,” Jaskier breathes. “Definitely. Do you mind?”

Geralt kisses him, and then leans in to whisper in his ear. “If I’d known I could breed you, I would have done it long ago.”

Jaskier shudders, his grip on Geralt tightening as he smiles. “And you think I would have let you?”

Geralt hums at the thought, his cock twitching as a weak after-load of come spills from him. “I think so.”

“You know what I think?” Jaskier says, and Geralt eases back to look down at him, admiring the flush of his cheeks and the feeling of come smeared against Jaskier’s softly, almost imperceptibly swollen belly. “I think we should go to our room,” Jaskier breathes, and then caresses Geralt’s cheek with trembling fingers. “It’s about time you claimed me as your mate, isn’t it?”

He smiles, and kisses Jaskier.

He’s right. It’s time.


End file.
